


Rising Tides and Purple Sands

by BustedChina



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Hogwarts House Sorting, Gen, Harry Potter Has a Different Name, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Misguided Albus Dumbledore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 15:53:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15076553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BustedChina/pseuds/BustedChina
Summary: Boy always knew that he was strange. Just like he always knew that Petunia “I’m not your Aunt!” Dursley didn’t like him much. So, it wasn’t that much a surprise when after he got his very first piece of post (with the oddly specific address), and the “I’m not giving that scamp my Dudder’s second bedroom” argument at lunch, Petunia marched him out to the trunk with a paper bag full of his belongings (the blue baby blanket and black stuffed dog amongst Dudley’s hamydowns).With very strict instruction of “I’ll drown you in the tub if you come back!”, twenty pounds, the crinkled letter, and directions to a place called Gringotts, he was left in the gutter facing the seedy pub no one could apparently see. With nothing else to go on, and the misty promise of rain, Boy hurried through the door of “the Leaky Cauldron”.It's a: Harry's not a Potter? Wait, Lily's not a muggleborn? The names of those elves sound familiar... kinda fic. The rating is M because I'm paranoid and don't really know the difference between T and M. The summary will change when/if I bother to write one, and not copy/paste two paragraphs from the first chapter. Sorry not sorry, I'll fix it later. Enjoy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please Note:  
> This is my project for July’s Camp Nano. I currently have three chapters drafted and written out, but they need a bit more work before I can post. I plan to post the actual first chapter Wednesday July 4th. This note will be torn down then, leaving the preview in “Notes”. My goal for the month is to get as much written out and published.
> 
> I do appreciate comments. Especially since this is the first fic I’ve ever published online that no one besides myself has pre-read.  
> On another note: None of my other fics have been abandoned. They will be updated. The current project/idea has been bugging me for quite a while. Though I have been working on my other fics.  
> As promised, here’s the first chapter. Woo! 
> 
> Cheers!
> 
> Now remember, I don’t own Harry Potter, or any of its characters. J.K. Rowling does. I simply play with the dolls before sticking them back on the shelf. I promise.

Chapter 1

 

Boy was a simple kid. He never asked for much and wasn’t given much in return. He had a room he could almost call his own (He shared it with Willy, the spider who lived in the topmost rung and that endless colony of stink bugs who moved in with the rain). He got fed every other day, and he had his own waste bucket. Though he did strange, freaky things on occasion. At least that’s what the family he served called it.

 _Freaky_.

In his mind, routines were God’s gift to Freaks. If he broke the rules, then he was punished. If something strange happened, he was punished.

He had a deep sense of satisfaction at the simplicity of his home life: get up, make breakfast, do chores, make dinner, sleep. Repeat. It never took much thought on his part, he simply let each day glide by.

But his simple days didn’t last very long.

 

 

You see, all children, even Freaks like himself, must be enrolled in school by age **six**. So, he was enrolled in Little Whinging Primary (must to Sir’s _thoroughly_ visible displeasure).  

He was excited. Ecstatic. He just couldn’t even --!

He was given a set of almost-new lined books, and Dudley’s old box of colored-tipped pencils that only had two missing. He was going to get lunch every day and he could drink as much water from the metal fountain as he wanted. Best of all, he was given a name!

Ma’am told him to respond to ‘Harry Potter’ when away from the home. She said his birthday was July 31st if anyone asked.  

He knew it wasn’t his real name, of course. Cuz Freaks don’t get names. Or birthdays for that matter. Sir explained it to him; he was supposed to hide his Freakishness outside of the house. To do that, he’d have to have a name. It was simple enough for even him to understand.

Although… he did wonder where the name came from, but he wasn’t going to ask Sir. At least not to his face. Or out loud.

(Pfft. He wasn’t suicidal, thank you very much).

So, he went to school. It took him a few days to adjust, and it was confusing being ‘Boy’ at home and ‘Harry, dear’ at school, but he got used to it eventually. And it was so much fun, _so_ different from home.

At least at first.

As one-month bleed into two, Boy realized a very important fact. He wasn’t well liked.

Well… it wasn’t anything new.

He already knew that Petunia _I’m not your Aunt_ Dursley didn’t like him. She didn’t like his eyes. (They were the wrong color.) Or his nose. (It was smaller than hers.) She didn’t like it when he spilled tea on the table cloth (understandable, neither did he), or folded the socks wrong (who knew there were so many ways to fold socks!), or breathed…

And it wasn’t hard to tell that Dudley _Mom, he’s doing it again!_ Dursley hated his guts. Or well, any kid his age (or lived on the same street) hated his guts. Dudley was just worse cuz he lived there too. And subsequently spent had to deal with him more often.

And don’t even get him started on Vernon _Don’t give me that look Boy!_ Dursley. The man would turn all sorts of unhealthy colors when Boy was within his line of sight. Hell, he was shocked that man didn’t fall faint more often. Going from white to puce that quickly most do a _number_ on his health. He knew Sir loathed his existence. And was the most vocal… and physical… with his dislike.

I mean, it wasn’t anything new exactly. It wasn’t even that hard to look for. But the others were a bit of a shock.

 

Mister Richard was annoying. He was always grumbling about Boy being: ‘too pale’, ‘too short’, ‘too skinny’. And he’d always get a talking too for _forgetting_ his lunch. But… he always brought his lunch.

 He was given an apple to take _every_ day. So, he had his lunch.

 And he told Mister Richard so, but the man simply sniffed before crossing his arms and geared up for another lecture; though this one was about lying.

 

Miss Maddy was the most confusing. She reminded Boy of Ma’am quite a bit; her voice was scratchy when she yelled at him, but then turned sticky-sweet when singing Dudley’s praises. She talked about following the rules a lot. Which Boy could totally get on board with -after-all rules are important- but then she’d call him out!

She’d have him break the rules to follow the rules! Complete. Utter. Nonsense.

He wasn’t allowed to talk at home. Besides the dutiful ‘Yes Sir, Yes Ma’am’ of course. Plus, he didn’t like talking; it always came out jumbled and stuttered. But here she wanted him to answer questions and explain his meaning. She always scolded him when he whispers or mumble. And she’d make him repeat himself until he was practically yelling, only to be talked down for yelling!

 

But Miss Cathy was the worst!

At first, she was nice. She was _really_ pretty, with blond hair and sparkly eyes. She smiled a lot too. She didn’t call on him often and let him sit in the back next to the window, so he could drift through lessons.

She taught something called Maths, which he thought was really easy. It was numbers, and counting, and ‘ _how many apples do I have now?’_ He didn’t understand why the others couldn’t do something so simple, but he was content to be ignored while she helped walked around the room.

But she broke the peace not long after they got their first test back. Apparently, he did really well, while the others (Dudley included) did not.

It was raining; and he was counting the drops sliding down the glass. Silently urging the small ones that slowed half-way down. So, he was startled when she tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped, elbow poking her side, and promptly blushed, trying to ignore the giggles.

(Looking back know, he could see how her eyes weren’t as bright, and her smile was stiff, but… hindsight…)

Anyway, while he was off in dreamland, she had drawn the problem on the board. And since he had gotten it right, she wanted him to answer the question. But she didn’t want him to simply answer, she wanted him to _go up_ and write it on the board. _At the front of the room._

In-front. Of. Everyone.

A hand on his elbow dragged him out of his seat. And a hand on his shoulder kept him from returning to it. But the hand on the small of his back pushed him to the front.

(He hated that hand.)

And, you’d think that once he answered her question she’d let him sit down again. Right?

Nope! She wanted him to explain it! Yeah, walk her through it.

(Fan _-fucking_ -tastic.)

He was a cherry red tomato at this point. And the giggles had turned to snickers. And he could see Dudley sneering at him from the first row. And Piers was mimicking him as he stuttered his way through an answer.

And he was just so angry!

 _Embarrassed_!

And he _hated_ that hand!

…

…

… and her hair turned blue…

 

 

Of course, he was pulled out of school not barely a year later. So, it wasn’t _that_ bad.

Of course, he was given _quite_ the concussion. And Sir broke his left arm again for his troubles.

…Though it was his fault. Even if he doesn’t know what he did.

             

Three months after Boy turned **seven** , Sir pulled him out of school because of “behavioral issues when faced with authority”. At least, that is what he told the Principal.

Boy understood it the next morning after getting Sir’s paper. _2 nd year primary student rescued after climbing school roof. _There was even a picture!

Sir didn’t smile. He didn’t even laugh.

Sir lunged forward, grabbing him around the neck and flinging him face-first into the wall. He bit his tongue. He could feel his eye swelling shut. The room tilted sideways when he tried to stand.

Plus, it didn’t help any when he was dragged out the hall way and his head bounced off the bottom-most stair.

He doesn’t remember anything after that. But when he next woke up, he was back in his cupboard. His back was sore, and his arm was broken. Again. Ma’am gave him a banana and told him he could come out again when he stopped being a freak.

 He spent the rest of the week crying in the dark.

And thinking.

 _Lots_ of thinking.

 

 

His _freakishness_ subsided until the Christmas after he turned **eight**. Just like last year, the week leading to the Dursley’s Christmas party was a nightmare.

On the 15th, he was re-acquainted with the purple stuff. It was the only day he was given gloves; but even then, his palms tingled when he was through degreasing the stove.

On the 16th, he used his old toothbrush -Ma’am had just given him a new one- to scrub the kitchen grout.

On the 17th, Sir took Dudley out to the cinema while Boy went with Ma’am to the launders. He was able to wash his crib mattress. He was positive Ma’am turned her head when he snuck his sheets and blue blanket in as well, but she never said anything. He would come home, and wash the walls of his cupboard, while Ma’am dusted the high shelves of the curio (she always said he’d break her best China.  _Please_  . It's been  _years_ since hes broken anything). 

On the 18th, Sir would stay in the house just long enough to unplug the telly and move the stand, so Boy could bleach the carpet. Unlike the year before however, Boy had no problem over-turning the couch, and dragging the low-table into the hall. He didn’t even break a sweat!

On the 19th, Boy would move upstairs; scrubbing the toilet bowl sparkly or standing on small stool dusting Dudley’s tin airplanes.

On the 20th, he spent time, reorganizing his cupboard. It was the only day that he ever saw Ma’am and Sir work. When he’d come out the next morning, the house would be transformed to a snowy glen. Fake snow would sit on the branches of an equally fake tree. Sir’s model cottages would be lit up across the mantel, and little fairy lights would be strung into the curtains and onto the banister. The large table in the kitchen would be replaced with Ma’am long buffet pushed up against the furthest wall. She always covered it in her great-gran’s lace (something she’d brag about later).

The 21st however didn’t go as planned. Ma’am had kicked him outside in nothing but pants and a shirt. His torn trainers flying out the door after him. There was to be an office party held at the Dursley’s and he wasn’t invited. He wasn’t even going to be cooking dinner, since the company was paying for something called catering.

It had snowed last night, so the ten-minute walked to the park turned into twenty. By the time he was huddled down inside the play tower, his fingers had started to match the blue of his shirt. He tried blowing on them, and rubbing them together, but it didn’t seem to do any good. He tucked his hands in his armpits, hoping they’d warm up a little.

They didn’t.

He was getting sleepy; his eyes closing on their own accord. But before he could fully slip off into dream-land a tingle spread from his chest outward, and his arms prickled with pins and needles as the cold slowly seeped away replaced with a warmth he hadn’t felt in a while.

When he awoke next, it was far past noon. The park was quiet ‘save for the twittering of birds. He slowly stretched. He hadn’t slept that well in a while. And his tummy rumbled as he skated down the icy plastic slide.

Absentmindedly, he noticed that it had snowed quite a bit over the night. It was piled high on the park bench, and the steps to the kiddy slides were completely hidden from sight. It was only when he went to crack his spine did he notice what was missing.

Roughly half-a-meter all around him was fresh green grass; none of that yellow-dead crispy stuff that he had trampled over the night before. He stared down in awe.

It was springy like new grass.

And it _smelled_ like new grass.

But it was _soft_. Like _softer_ than his cot soft. Like _softer_ than that one time he jumped onto Sir’s bed soft.

It was like… _magic._

And the snow was gone! Melted! There was no fresh powder on him. It didn’t blow inside his tower. Or land on his slide. Or even blow onto him!

He didn’t have blue-stiff fingers from being in the cold too long. And he could still feel his cheeks. And his nose wasn’t running.

Sure, his hair was still frozen to his neck, but he wasn’t breathing out puffs of ice, and he could still feel all his toes when he wriggled them!

He was almost (dare he say it) _warm._

He had to re-dig his way back to Privet Drive. Ma’am just sniffed at him when he rang the bell, and Sir scowled darkly before mumbling to “stop bothering the decent folk” as he was unceremoniously dragged to the kitchen to get a start on the Christmas Roast.

 

 

He was **nine** when he saw his first movie.

It wasn’t at the cinema. Or at school. Instead it was on the telly.

He was cleaning the crumbs behind the couch when Dudley came barreling down the front steps. He was forgotten, crammed into the corner (half-hidden in the fake banana leaf tree), when the family crowded the telly to watch _Snow White and the Seven Dwarves_.

It was wonderful.

 

The real trouble started the following morning.

He thought he was _safe_. It was _Sunday_.

The Dursley’s were at church. ( _Freaks_ weren’t allowed.) He thought he’d have he’d have an extra two hours. After all, the Dursley’s liked to have lunch after church at the dinner on the corner. Dudley liked to brag about it, and swing around his new toy while Boy cleaned the sitting room.

He thought he’d have _time_.

It was cuz he couldn’t stop thinking about the movie that he was being silly. He wasn’t thinking straight.

SnowWhite had animal helpers to help her clean (He doubted Ma’am would appreciate woodland creatures trampling through her kitchen.)

No, Boy didn’t have any of that. _But_ he did have a broom and mop. He had rags that dried the dishes (after he asked _really_ nicely). And ten minutes later he was giggling as the broom danced around the kitchen. He sung the whistling-working song loudly. Swaying to the music as he washed the dishes.

But he didn’t have time.

The Dursley’s had forgone lunch cuz Dudley had the sniffles.

Let’s just say, Sir wasn’t happy.

 

             

When Boy was **ten** , Ma’am decided that the cupboard was too good for a freak like him and cleaned out a small space in the garden shed. He was given a rather large cardboard box, a bucket, and a dog bowl with large blocky letters that spelled out “FREAK”. He was to remove everything of his and settle into the box.

She told him that, “if he wanted to act like an animal, he’d be treated like an animal,” after she caught him hissing to a green snake in the flowerbed.

Just like on ~~his~~ _the_ cupboard, the shed was outfitted with two new padlocks; one on top and one about two inches from the grass. But he didn’t stop there, Sir had installed bars on the only window; but Boy could flick the latch and open it about an inch.

The breeze was nice.

The first night wasn’t bad. He was able to make a small nest of over-large shirts and ripped towels. He had his blue blanket and was able to smuggle Paddy out of his cupboard. The drafty breeze was new, as was the street light coming through the small window, but the crickets lulled him quickly to sleep.

It was… different.

…

(SIGH)

Sometimes he wished he wasn’t such a _freak_.

 

 

But everything came to a head when Boy turned **eleven**.

As it turns out, Boy wasn’t just strange, he was a wizard. A special kind of strange according to Ma’am. He always knew that Ma’am didn’t like him much; so, it wasn’t that much a surprise when _after_ he got his very first piece of post (with the oddly specific address—his _old_ bedroom), and the “I’m not giving that scamp _my_ Dudder’s second bedroom” argument at lunch, Petunia marched him out to the trunk with a paper bag full of his belongings (the blue baby blanket and black stuffed dog amongst Dudley’s hamydowns).

With very strict instruction of “I’ll drown you in the tub if you come back!”, twenty pounds, his crinkled letter, and directions to a place called Gringotts he was left in the gutter facing the seedy pub across the way. With nothing else to go on, and the misty promise of rain, Boy hurried through the door of “the Leaky Cauldron”.

 

July 15th

7:30 pm

Leaky Cauldron, London

No one noticed the skinny whelp enter the pub. No one turned at the groan of old wood, or the crack of thunder slipping through the warded muggle entrance. Even old Tom didn’t look up from his polishing. Only when an insistence, “excuse me sir” and a wobbly smile drew his gaze to the green-eyed boy. A few quiet words, and promises of “meeting my folks at Gringotts, Sir” had Boy slipping through the Alley’s portal.

The sky was just as dark in the Alley, but that didn’t seem to stop the last shoppers of the day from flurrying around the shopkeepers trying to push said shoppers out of their doors. Boy would’ve laughed, if he wasn’t awe struck at the oddly colored shops, and blatant displays of _freakishness_. With a steeling breath, he walked a brisk clip, his sights set on the tall, slightly leaning building of white-wash marble.

The little guards bowed to Boy, who awkwardly half-bowed back before rushing in, hoping he’d meet a teller before closing time. The inside was brightly lit, small gas lamps sat on every occupied desk, their light sparkling off the large glass dome ceiling and polished marble floors. Boy entered a slowly dwindling line, only stepping forward when it was his turn. He waited silently, standing on tip toes he was almost able to see over the creature’s desk.

The creature was unlike anything Boy had ever seen. He remembered Ma’am ranting about the freaks keeping their unnatural wages with Goblins, but he’d seen a picture of a Goblin in one of Dudley’s rare fantasy picture books, and it didn’t look anything like this. The Goblin had pale wrinkly skin, like the old man down at number 10, and long white tuffs of hair from his ears. He had on a suit and silver glasses, but both were child size. The Goblin didn’t look to be bigger than Boy himself.

 

Bagnold was tired. And when he was tired he was grumpy. So, when he raised his eyes from his previous customers’ ledgers and saw no one in line, he flipped his sign to close and flicked his little lamp off. He was scooping his ledgers into his arms when a small cough drew his attention to the little fingers clasped on the top of his desk.

He froze for a moment, staring as the pale fingers twitched and spasmed against the wood, before lifting himself out of his seat and peering down into bright green eyes. The little urchin was just that… _little_. His head didn’t even reach the top of the desk when stretched to full height, just as the child was doing now. He scowled down at the urchin, freezing once again as the child curled into himself, sliding his fingers off the desk and tipping his head down with a slurred, “S'rry Sir”.

Bagnold curled his fingers around the ledgers; glancing at the other tellers -similarly packing up- in envy, the darkening of the bank lobby, before peering down at the pale child. He stepped from his chair, walking around the tall counter, about to tell the child that the bank was now closed and to come back in the morning, when the child brushed a trembling hand through sweaty hair, making it stick up a moment before quickly falling back into green eyes. But that one moment was all Bagnold needed. Raised and stark against pale skin was a pink-twisted scar; in the shape of a lightning bolt or perhaps… _sowilo_.

Both representing _strength_.

Bagnold only knew one child with such a brand. The wizard’s named him “The-Boy-Who-Lived. But the Goblins knew him better as Heir Harry James Potter, one of Gringotts’s richest clients. And until that moment, _missing_ from the Wizarding World.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello~
> 
> Thanks for stopping by,  
> This chapter has been sitting on my laptop for months! I've got no real excuse 'cept I've been lazy. Sorry about that. 
> 
> This chapter is for all intent and purposes an info dump. Its necessary set-up for the rest of the “Gringotts” arc. Chapter 3 goes a bit more in-depth with Gringotts “inner-workings”. So chapter 2 is mainly an introduction of three main characters in the arc, and the stories first real problem/mystery. 
> 
> Well, that being said, I do hope y’all enjoy. 
> 
> Now remember, I don’t own Harry Potter, or any of its characters. J.K. Rowling does. I simply play with the dolls before sticking them back on the shelf. I promise.
> 
> See you next time, Cheers!

Chapter 2

 

July 15th

7:45 pm

Gringotts, Lobby

Gringotts, London

 

Teller Bagnold swallowed down a garbled curse. He quickly ushered the young Heir around the desk. A crisp, “follow me” led them down a hidden hallway and deeper into the bank: past polished walls filled with burgundy tapestries of creatures Boy had never imagined being real. Boy counted five doorways before they stopped in front of a solid oak frame. Three quick raps and a garbled command had Bagnold opening the door and ushering the child in before him. After he bowed -and practically shoved the child into a chair-, he turned to the Ancient goblin on seated in an ornate chair opposite the child “Heir Potter meeting Senior Account Ironclaw” before leaving to fetch a scroll of enchanted parchment.  

 

Ironclaw studied the little one across his desk. The chair was sized for an adult wizard, and even after adjusting the chair’s height via the rune on the underside of his desk, the child’s feet dangled far from the ground. He smiled slightly at the look of awe that split across the youngling’s face when the chairs and desk shrunk down, befitting to someone of his size.

Ironclaw stood, his joints popping. He could feel a sharp gaze following as he circled the desk.

“Greeting’s child. Welcome to Gringotts Bank. I am Senior Account Manager Ironclaw. I manage the Potter Holdings and those that fall under the Potter Family’s Primacies.” He held out a heavily scared hand waiting silently to see what the child would do.

 

Boy rose stiffly as the little old man - _no Goblin_ \- stood before him.

He was a few inches taller than him and had more scars than visible skin. He was missing a large chunk of his nose. And his eyes didn’t blink at the same time. His left eye having an odd sort of twitch.  He didn’t have nearly as much hair coming out of ear’s as Teller Bagnold’s, but what little he did have was as white as freshly fallen snow. Boy felt the urge to reach out and touch it, but he quickly squashed out that feeling.

The man (Goblin!) didn’t make a sound. His hand didn’t even twitch. He just stood…waiting. Boy had never met another who… waited?... like that. He was _different…_

He reached out a shaking hand and gently clasped the Goblin’s hand. He simply held on, not knowing what else to do. He had never shaken another’s hand before!

“M-my n’mes Boy,” he whispered. “It’s ni-nice to me-me…”. He stopped, breathing deeply. “to m-mm-meet you, sir.” He slumped slightly, exhausted from such a simple sentence. He hadn’t talked that much in a very long time.

 Since school perhaps.

 

Ironclaw continued to observe the child; not liking what he saw in the least. The child still held his hand in a light grip. His arm was bony, and he could see a green splotch half-hidden beneath his sleeve. The child had a stutter and quite possibly a lisp to accompany it. But most unsettling is that the child introduced himself as _Boy_. Why on earth didn’t the youngling use his name? Did he not know it? Did he--?

He was shaken from his quiet observations of the youngling by a sharp knock. He dropped the hand before turning to the door. He barked permission to enter. Bagnold stepped through. In his hands was a large sheaf and a simple black box. The young teller placed everything gently on the desk before bowing and taking his leave.

Ironclaw eyed the curious child before him; once again sitting up in his seat. He picked up the sheaf of parchment.

“This child is parchment,” he said clearly, spreading out three stacks on the desk. He carefully laid four pieces into each pile. “Parchment is what we use here as paper. It is made of animal hide -skin-,” he clarified at the youngling’s look of confusion, “instead of plant fibers. _This_ parchment is special however. Here at the bank, it is soaked in a special bath that reacts with a wizard’s magic. It allows us to view many different things, such as family trees and various contracts. Today child, we are going to use it to view three simple tests. Do you understand thus far child?”

 

Boy nodded, scooting forward further in his seat. Boy squawked as his chair magically scooted further as well.

“There are three important ages in a wizard’s life. The first when they are one years of age. It is said that at one, the magical core begins to grow, absorbing the magic nearby. The last is at age 17, when the core finished stabilizing. It will continue to grow, but more slowly than before. Familial inheritances will happen at this time, whether it be Creature Inheritances, or Lordships. However, the age that you must worry about is when a wizard turns 11,” the Goblin slowly explained.

“I-I’m still ten tho’,” the Boy interjected. He looked up at the Goblin before quickly shrinking back in his seat. He wasn’t supposed to interrupt!

“That’s correct child,” Ironclaw plowed on, not allowing Boy to cower. “At these three ages, magical children are brought to Gringotts to undergo three simple tests. The first is an Inheritance Test, also known as an Identity Test. It will show us your full name, and any inheritances to your name. The last two are health test for our files.”

“However, your parents did not bring you to Gringotts on your first birthday. Therefore, today’s tests will allow us to build a file. We will simply start with an Inheritance test. We may do more tests based on the results.”

 

Boy began to tremble. The first test didn’t sound so bad, but he’d never had a health test before. He wasn’t allowed to show others his freakishness. Sir said others could catch it if they were too close, so that’s why he never went to the doctor unlike Dudley.

“Calm child,” Ironclaw soothed. Boy hadn’t noticed that he’d come around the chairs again. He shrunk back further.

“I’m not all’wed,” Boy whimpered. “No one c-can kn…  n-not r-r-r’es”, he stumbled in his panic. 

“Hush child. Only those in charge of your account will see it. No one else will know. It only requires a bit of magic, nothing more. A simple prick and its done. Calm child, it’ll be okay. All will be taken care of,” Ironclaw soothed.

“Breath with me child. In.” Boy took a shaking breath in.

“And out. Good child. Again, In. Out”

Boy breathed with the Goblin a dozen more times, each breath longer and coming more easily than the last. By breath ten the trembling had stopped, and by breath twenty Ironclaw was back in his seat opening the bare black box.

“Better child?” he asked. A shy nod was given. “Good,” he said decisively.

 

Ironclaw opened the box and pulled out a small silver dagger. It was sparkling in the lamp light. Its hilt adjourned in clear crystals, and silvery vines crept up it’s hilt. The tip was sharp and curved slightly to the left.

“This, child, is a ceremonial dagger. It is used to take a small amount of blood -just seven drops- and heal the wound afterwards. For you see, there is magic found within blood. Some of the most powerful in fact. It is never wise to allow your blood to flow free or give to another. Nok1 knows what it would be used for,” he grunted.

Once again, he stood, and beckoned the child to follow. The child swayed lightly before creeping towards his side of the desk. “Allow me, child,” he said slowly grasping the child’s hand. With his right, he pressed the tip into the fleshy pad of his thumb, quickly he swept the hand over the first parchment -all the while chanting crisp _kakorlaan_ 2 -before squeezing the thumb lightly, allowing the blood to flow faster. He counted seven drops before repeating the process twice more.

He relinquished the child’s thumb, swiping a hand at the dagger, which rid itself of blood instantly, and glanced at the awed child who was examining his no longer wounded thumb. The parchments glowed. Or well, they pulsed with the rise and fall of his words before fading entirely as he trailed off with a soft sigh. 

“Now let’s see what we have here,” he said as the child retook his seat.

Inheritance Blood test:

Name: Keagan Henry Selwyn-Prince

Date of Birth: July 31st, 1980

Mother: Lily Ann Potter nee Evans (Deceased)

Father: Severus Tobias Snape (Alive)

Status: Half-blood

God-Mother: Alice Longbottom nee Greengrass (Indisposed)

God-Father: Sirius Black (Incarcerated)

Maternal Grandmother: Dahlia Evans nee Potts (Deceased)

Maternal Grandfather: Harold Evans (Deceased)

Paternal Grandmother: Eileen Snape nee Prince (Deceased)

Paternal Grandfather: Tobias Snape (Deceased)

Magical Guardian: Petunia Dursley nee Evans (Squib)

Titles:

Black (Most Ancient and Noble)

Prince (Ancient and Noble)

Slytherin (Royal)—Primacy

Properties:

Trust Vault 710

See folders…

 

“Nok’s gherec o!3” Ironclaw shouted, badly startling the child. He stood, gathering the papers, and dashed to the door, nearly forgetting the child in his haste. “Child, please follow me!”

He impatiently waited till the child stood by his side. He all but hauled the child down the hall. The burgundy tapestries blended to a soft blue before twisting to the darkest emerald. It was beneath such a color wall-hanging that they stopped. Ironclaw pounded on the oak door, pushing it open without waiting for an answer.

A large elderly Goblin was half-out of his chair before Ironclaw swept in. He shoved the child into a chair before handing the parchment over without a word. 

 

Boy watched as the large Goblin’s eyebrows steadily rose higher. He silently thrust out a hand, and Ironclaw passed the other two bundles to the Goblin. The Old Goblin grunted something harsh at Ironclaw, who spitted back a grunt -that sounded like a choked cough- before gesturing at him. Ironclaw came over and gently lifted hair, showing off his oddly shaped scar before hissing at the other Goblin.

It was then that Boy, figured they were talking to each other. Like how Miss. Figg’s cats hiss and meow at one another, the grunts and coughs must be how they talk! Boy’s shined with this new knowledge, silently wondering if he could learn. He had such trouble with English. But he could hiss. He’d done it to the snake seeking shelter in his garden shed, the one that had gotten stuck between the bars and the window opening. He wasn’t quite sure how the grunting would work, but he was sure he could manage.

Boy was drawn back with a rough, “Child”. He looked up. Both Goblin’s were looking at him now. He drew back slightly before taking a deep breath and tilting his face up.

“Child, this is Littlefoot,” Ironclaw waved slightly at the Large Goblin. “He is the Elder account manager to the Slytherin Family Line. He is one of the most knowledgeable managers at Gringotts, and as such works on one of the seven royal lines.

Here Ironclaw paused, and since the first time Boy entered the bank, he saw the Goblin look unsure. Visibly steeling himself the Goblin continued.

“In the wizarding world, there is a child known as the _Boy-Who-Lived_. He is also called Harry James Potter.”

Boy zoomed in immediately. “M-me,” he whispered, pointing to himself.

“Not exactly,” the Goblin grimaced. “The child was identified to having black unruly hair, emerald green eyes, and a lightning shape scar on his forehead. Which matches your description, but magic doesn’t lie? The test here,” he says shuffling the first parchment over for Boy to see, “states that your name is not Harry James Potter. In fact, the information that was given to us on your first birthday does not match the test done here.”

“Now remember when I told you that witches and wizards are brought to Gringotts on their 1st, 11th, and 17th birthday to undergo their three tests? Yes? Well, your parents were already under charms that masked their location and as such did not come in to Gringotts upon your first birthday. So, the information we had compiled on you was all second hand. It appears someone wanted to pass you off as a scion of house Potter, when you are in fact a scion of house Prince.”

“Although,” a gruff voice interrupted. Boy looked up to Littlefoot. His face was scrunched up into a what was probably a ‘thoughtful’ look for the Elderly Goblin.

“Some of the information matches. Look here,” he said pointing to the birthday.

Date of Birth: July 31st, 1980

“The birthdate matches our records. As does the mother.”

Mother: Lily Ann Potter nee Evans (Deceased)

“The God-parents matches as well,” Ironclaw pointed.

“Aw, yes, a Lady Alice Longbottom, and Lord Sirius Black. The Father however is not Lord Potter, but instead Lord-apparent Severus Prince. Interesting. Do you think he knows?” Littlefoot asked Ironclaw, who shook his head.

“I… I am not sure. He has never come to accept his Lordship after his 17th birthday. Or even his Heirship. He would not be able to access his family tapestry.” Ironclaw reasoned out.

“Um Sir. Wh-where does the S-Sel… That come from?” Bo- _K-Keagan_  (Lord he’d have to get used to that. He couldn’t believe it. He had a real name!) asked pointing to his last name.

 

Littlefoot hummed before jamming a button to his right and speaking into an intercom. Not even two minutes later, Teller Bagnold came in holding another sheaf of parchment and another black box. Prepared, Keagan stood from his chair and held out his hand without prompting.

Littlefoot smiled approvingly, before grasping his pointer finger and chanting in his gruff voice, louder than Ironclaw had. Seven drops of blood fell onto the scroll, and this time Keagan watched as the scroll glowed softly before rising and falling. Like the tides of the ocean he had once seen on Sir’s telly.

The glow faded as the chanting stopped, and a smudge of black appeared at the bottom of the page before crawling upwards. Keagan leaned closer. It looked like…Ink? Like small Ink vines stretched up over the paper. Small green leaves clumped together, branches connecting them or else going a different way entirely. He watched in awe as golden lettering appeared beneath some leaf clusters as black and grey lettering fell onto others. The doubled in size all on its own.

And Keagan happily clapped his hands as a large tree sprawled itself across the parchment. His name shining proudly in small golden letters at the very bottom. He followed Littlefoot’s finger as it slid up his mother’s side, past Dahlia Potts, up to Daisy Williams, passing a Rose Greenwood and another Lily up until it stopped at a Violet Selwyn in triumph.

“It looks as though your mother’s family was a magical one after all. A squib one at that.” Ironclaw practically crowed. At Keagan's confused look, he elaborated. “A squib is a non-magical child born to a magical family. Although the tradition isn’t as rampart now, it past decades it was common to give the squib up to the mundane world- non-magical world,” he explained.

Keagan looked horrified.

“In fact, there is no such thing as a muggle-born. Magic cannot come from nothing. All of the children that Gringotts has tested have been descendants of cast out squibs.” Littlefoot went on.

“In wizarding Brittan, purebloods and half-bloods often marry within their family or secondary circle. I mentioned Primacy before, yes?” Ironclaw questioned Keagan who nodded quickly. “In the wizarding world, there is a Hierarchy of houses. At the top is the seven royal families. Next are the Most Ancient and Noble Houses, following that trend is the Ancient and Noble Houses and lastly the Noble Houses.” He sketched a quick hierarchy on spare parchment.

“Your listed houses are Slytherin- which is a royal-, Black -which is a Most Ancient and Noble-, and Prince- which is also a Most Ancient and Noble. Since Slytherin is the highest house listed, it holds Primacy. The houses that hold fealty to house Slytherin -or in other words have sworn loyalty- are the Most Ancient Houses of Malfoy and Black, the Ancient Houses of Parkinson, Nott, LeStrange and Crouch, and the Noble Houses of Crabbe, Goyle, Fawley, Carrow, Truman, Avery, Rowle, and _Selwyn_. Understand so far?” he paused before continuing. “It is not unheard of to wed a daughter to a house within your fealty. That way, you know that your daughter would not come to harm, for the family would be unable to harm the daughter without breaking their fealty vows and as such risk their health, lands, or magic- depending on the type of vows.”

“Now,” Littlefoot picked up. “There is a term called interbreeding. It is used to describe when two people have a child, but their familial connection is two close. It is intertwined to a sort. There is no new blood, and as such no new magic entering the child. When too much interbreeding has happened the magic steadily grows weaker and weaker until it completely goes dormant. Once it has grown dormant a squib is born. Often the child is left to the mundane world, yes? Well what do you think would happen if that squib met another squib? If they were to have a child together? Look here,” he pointed to the line above Violet Selwyn to an Iris Selwyn and a Matthias Greengrass. “Greengrass is also a magical name. It is a house tied into the Ravenclaw Primacy. Now these two squibs came together to have a child, who was magical as you can see from the grey writing, but with not enough magic to register on our records. But that magical child came together to marry another squib descent. And the newer magic introduced, slowly unlocked the dormant magic until your mother was born, a fully magical child that had enough magic to register on our records- see the golden lettering- and as such be notified and introduced to the British Magical World.”

“So long story short, even though your mother was an Evans, our records pick up on the magical names of your familial lines. Your father, while Lord-apparent Prince is technically a Snape, his mother was a daughter of house Prince. Thus, that is where the Selwyn-Prince comes from.”

“Now, let’s discuss your health records, shall we? Then we shall break for the evening, you will of course be staying here in the bank young Heir. I will call Teller Bagnold to bring you to your rooms.” Littlefoot informed the pale child before him.

Surface Diagnostic Exam:

Height: 50 inches

Weight: 55 pounds

Temperature: 98.1◦ Fahrenheit

Allergies: None

 

“I will be frank. You are underweight and too short for your age, child. Our healers will create a meal and potion schedule.”

“Potions are the same as medicine here. Except they are made from animal and plant parts instead of the artificially created rubbish that the mundane’s frequently use.” Ironclaw clarified.

“B-but I’m not all’wed,” Keagan argued.

“You most certainly are now, child. In fact, I demand that you see the Healer Trimius tomorrow before lunch. She will set you to rights before we start to on the blood blocks,” Littlefoot said, skimming through the stacks of parchment.

Medical Diagnostic Exam:

Broken Bones: 3 fingers, 2 ribs, left forearm, Concussion,

Vaccinations: None

Physical Ailments: Near-sighted, Brittle Bones, Asthma, Vitamin D Deficiency, Malnutrition, Multiple Contusions

Blocks: Horcrux, mail ward

Blood Bonds: God-father bond, Blood Glamour tied to James Potter

 

“The mail ward is easy to break, as will be the bones that need to be re-mended. The Horcrux will need to be moved to another container. But the blood-glamour will be a challenge. We will know more when the Horcrux is removed.” Littlefoot rattled off to Ironclaw.

“Maybe, Sir, we could bring back Trimius’s grand-son back into the clan. He is one of our best charm master’s. I have no doubt he’d be able to have an idea as to what kind of blood-glamour was used.” Ironclaw cautiously suggested.

“Ah. Yes. The Flitwick child, what was his name?”

“Filius, Sir. Master Filius Flitwick.”

“Yes, call him back tomorrow. He will renew his vows to the clan however. But yes, that should work.” He added nodding. “Also, send out a level three summons to Master Snape. I wish to talk to him. Make sure the necessary wards have been added.”

He looked towards the sleeping Heir curled in the chair in front of him. A small smile graced his lips as he gathered the parchment on his desk before magically filing it into a new folder.

It has been so long since he had an active account. He was looking forward to teaching this child.

“Call Bagnold. Tell him to prepare a suite in my hall. And ready the ritual rooms for tomorrow afternoon.”

“Of course, sir,” Ironclaw bowed before slipping out to do his elder’s bidding. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The Muggles have ‘Lord knows…’, and the wizards have ‘Merlin knows…’, so I thought the Goblins should have ‘Nok knows…’. Its more fun that way.  
> 2\. I used the “Common to Goblin” translator. And I will use it for all my Goblin language endeavors. For this one though, Kakorlaan is “language” in English. So Ironclaw is chanting in his native tongue.  
> 3\. Nok’s gherec o is “Nok’s missing eye. Who knew making up Goblin curse words could be so entertaining. There’s just so many possibilities.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello~
> 
> May I present Chapter 3! 
> 
> I’m actually super-duper proud of this chapter. Not only is it my longest yet, but the timeline came together quite nicely if I do say so myself. 
> 
> Once again, there is a bit of Goblin speech at the end notes. Maybe I’ll create a glossary of words I’ve used at the end of the arc. 
> 
> Now as per usual, disclaimer: Now remember, I don’t own Harry Potter, or any of its characters. J.K. Rowling does. I simply play with the dolls before sticking them back on the shelf. I promise.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the magic, 
> 
> Till next time, Cheers!

July 16th

7:30 am

B 37 Conference Room

Gringotts, London

 

Basement level 37 had an interesting smell. It wasn’t quite mold, nor something dead, but it was certainly musty. The largest conference room wasn’t stuffy though, no extension runes took care of that. Maybe it was the lack of windows, but Basement level 55 didn’t have any windows either and it didn’t smell nearly as… earthy… as 37 did.

The five-tiered auditorium encircled a shifting wall tapestry. Circling nearly three-quarters the room, the smooth wood floor cut into seven pieces. The colored cushions designating the ruling factions. All faced the always empty marble dais. It wasn’t by far the largest Hall, but it would do for today.  

Ironclaw shook out his formals before sitting cross-legged on his cushion. It was comfy, sure, but not nearly as squashy as the wide one atop his office chair. It was the same color, that deep burgundy- not quite purple- with gold stitching and tassels that led little in the ways of comfort. It was the height of fashion…maybe some-odd century ago, now it just made his legs hurt, and wish he was sitting in his desk chair, and not waiting for some fifty-odd Goblins to squabble over the Potter accounts.

He rested his head against the railing of the second tier, watching his juniors flow to their seats behind him, sitting on their assigned cushions. His mind wandered as a group of miners brought in the seven royal cushions; dropping them down on the stone floor, not too far from the railing separating the tiered ranks. Their colors still pristine, as if they’d been sewn yesterday and not nearly a thousand years prior. Gryffindor’s Burgundy- like his own- was placed closest to the room’s only set of doors. Hufflepuff’s gold silk seated next: followed by Ravenclaw’s navy blue cotton and Slytherin’s emerald silks. Littlefoot’s cushion was so ornament it was wonder how he could function after sitting on it for more than five minutes. His cheeks ached just looking at it.

Next lay Emrys royal purple (the snot) and he had to resist a sneer at LeFay’s black shadows (always shifting just like her _pets_ the Peverell’s). Finally nestled against the wall lay the Flamel’s wood brown, nearly blending in with the polished cherry.

His mind snapped back to attention when three members of the royal guard came in carrying a wide pristine cushion, the color of fresh snow. The cavern echoed as jaws dropped and eyes widened. The…the Director?! Why on Earth was he needed for an over-view meeting!

But before the hall could erupt in chaos the metal doors slammed closed. The cherry frames glowing as the privacy runes and muffling charms enclosed the space to outside’s prying ears. It seemed it was now eight o’clock. The first meeting was about to begin.

A shimmer of light, and the tapestry below gave way to allow today’s guests entrance. First was Brilok, the Peverell household manager. The old maid of his generation- hasn’t had a client in decades but has her fingers in more than enough pies abroad, one of the Parisian branch’s finest. She sat on her feathered cushion behind Sunstone, the Elder manager of the Royal LeFay House. That prune had to be pushing 500, yet she was still the height of Bagnold’s youngest. It appeared all grace had left her in her old age as she plopped down with a grunt, her can rolling away from her.  

Next was Sharptooth, Elder manager of Gryffindor house. He tossed the cane back with a few choice words that left Ironclaw smirking before taking his seat; twisting to grin at Ironclaw.

A teller came in to announce a ten-minute delay due to a healer. The hall as one relaxed shoulder and spines, slumping in their seats.

 Ironclaw surveyed those who had come, noting some familiar faces, the Longbottom manger beside him.

On the next tier he spied a cluster of three of the four Ancient Mangers. He nodded approvingly, it was good they deemed this meeting necessary without prior prompting. Though he scowled at the final and far biggest tier; only four of eight Noble juniors decided to come. He only knew of one- Diggory- who had an excuse, a scheduled meeting unable to post-pone.

“You prepared to speak, _shech_ 1,” Sharptooth asked. Ironclaw spun around, nearly upsetting himself.

“Yes, Sir. A quick debriefing of the family line and problem.”

“Good, _shech_. This’ll make the time go by quick. Especially if that prune can keep her nab shut,” he sneered at the other corner.

Ironclaw sat back. Contemplating the array of clustered cushions; Not many had shone today. It wasn’t a surprise really. Wizarding Britain had been rather… stale, in the last fifty years or so. The wizards were filled with too much prejudice nowadays. The squib-born had many ideas, but little funding; the funding they could grab was found outside of the isles, so Britain was left to stagnate. There just weren’t any new fun projects. Nothing of note happening to other families. How… _dreary_.

Ten minutes blurred to fifteen before a slow click could be heard echoing down the hall. The tapestry moved as Littlefoot hurried to his seat (surprisingly agile of the old stone). He had only sat down before the steel door shimmered briefly before slamming open.

The Director had arrived.

 

July 16th

8 am Breakfast

Great Hall

Hogwarts, Scotland

 

Filius Flitwick was happy. Tired, yes, but happy. The summer was coming to an end quite quickly. The rest of the staff had arrived over the last few days; unpacking their lives into the quarters once again and settling into a not-quite routine. In just six weeks, the halls would be filled with children again ready to learn.

He glanced around the hall. Most were fixing tea or coffee. Severus sat glaring darkly into a cup of coffee; while Poppy and Pomona sat off to the side chittering about this year’s fashion no doubt. He stifled a giggle at Aurora, falling asleep in her tea. Hagrid and Trelawny were missing as was due course. Hagrid was off feeding the animals and wouldn’t arrive until later, and if he knew Sybil she was off nursing a hangover.

He had unpacked his quarters yesterday and was planning on refurbishing the Ravenclaw library today. Maybe Severus would let him peek in on the Slytherin one. He knew it was organized differently; with wards that kept all books to the common room. Maybe the wards would allow him to copy some of the History books. Nok knows the students needed all the help they could get with Binns teaching still…

He sat idly swirling his tea, waiting for his seatmate to join him. Minerva was usually an early-riser like Severus, but during the summer she’d sleep through lunch if an elf didn’t wake her. He chuckled to himself as he saw here slink through the side door. A jovial smile on his face as he grabbed another cup and made her tea; Scottish black. As black and stiff as Severus’ teaching robes.

The food popped on the table as Filius handed Minerva her cup. He fixed them both a plate; honey porridge with sliced fruit and bangers. Minerva grunted her thanks, unable to form words until her third cup.

“What of the circuit this year Filius,” asked Albus.

“I spent most of my time with young Miguel and Versa. With a little work, they could be this season’s favorites. Versa’s elemental charms’ll be a sight to see when she gets them down non-verbal. Miguel though is more run ‘n gun. Not unlike Minerva here.” He nodded at his now listening colleague. “I’ve never seen a smoother Animagus transformation. It’ll be a crowd pleaser,” he chuckled.

“What of Travers,” Severus asked.

“I couldn’t do much for him. He is more transfiguration based. Though we did have some interesting application runs.”

“Oh?”

“Like making use of the terrain. Creating sand traps or frozen patches beneath loose gravel. And an odd use of the summoning charm,” Filius expanded, a bemused smile on his face.

“Though I’m afraid I can’t give too many secrets away. The circuit starts in two weeks after all.” He chuckled at Minerva and Albus’ put-out face.

The peaceful atmosphere didn’t last very long.

At a quarter past 8, the mail owls had arrived. Albus and Minerva receiving several acceptance owls. It was that time after all. Severus and Poppy receiving their weekly Potion’s journals. He himself was waiting on the newest Chatting of Charms, but that wouldn’t come out till the 21st. So, he was rather surprised when an Owl plopped down in front of him.

Surprised would be an understatement. Instead he chocked on his tea when a large black barred owl hooted with impatience.

“M-Mars,” he chocked out. Ignoring the sudden silence. Shivering at the drawn eyes. Clutching trembling fingers, he breathed. Once, twice. Before removing the scroll from his Mater’s Owl.  

Thoughtlessly, he conjured a small dagger, swiping at his palm. Allowing the blood to gush freely down the white seal; ignoring the shocked gasps of his gathered co-workers. The wound is healed by the time he banishes the dagger, examining the once-blank seal of his clan. A broken purple shield.

The scroll unravels, revealing the order from home. A meeting with the Elder Account Managers. A renewing of vows. A new assignment directly from the Director’s mouth. He can feel himself frowning as he reads. He’s sure he’s paled more than healthy. But he doesn’t feel panicked. Instead he feels…excitement?

Along with the summons lay a quickly scrawled note bearing Mater’s handwriting. ‘Formal dress, renewing vows, very important, urgent, please hurry.’  A fake galleon of Goblin silver taped to the bottom, with a scrawled _dalaan ghaan muulkaan_ 2 instead of a signature. 

Filius is half out of the chair, owl on his shoulder when a hand on his elbow alerts him to the other’s staring in concern at him.

“I-I.” Filius stops, unsure what to say. “Th-there’s a problem. With the clan.” He’s flustered. Why is he flustered?

“I. I must go.”

And with that he rushes from the Great Hall, ignoring the calls of his name. He skips the side door, instead taking the secret passage beside the eagle banner in the Entrance Hall. He takes the secret staircase back to his tower rooms. His formal tunics are in the chest beneath his bed; varying purples and silver layers of silk. The sword his Pater gave him finds its place at his hip; his family seal hangs heavy from his neck.

It’s been decades since he’s been called back to the clan. He’s been home of course, but never for business. His last assignment being when Tooth died. When Hammer left Britain.

He digs through the chest against the far wall for his hidden wand sheaf. Its leather fits snug beneath his elbow; a touch of magic on a hidden rune has it fading completely out of sight. Three daggers lay concealed in the folds of his over-tunic. He summons his shield from above his bed, strapping it on his back as he ties up his dragon-hide leathers.

Five minutes and he’s out of his quarters, ignoring Minerva waiting for him. And Albus and Severus walking his way. He can see that they are shocked. He doesn’t remember the last time he has worn his formals. He doesn’t think his co-workers have ever seen him wear them, maybe back when he was a master of the dueling circuit. But then Minerva hadn’t been out of diapers yet.

He clutches his scroll, and as soon as he is pass the wards, he shouts the portkeys activation phrase, taking him home to his Mater’s sitting room. Arms knock him off his feet. His Mater, worrying over his hair, wandlessly braiding it down his back. Securing it with a black tie.

“ _Ghec tuuc_ 3,” his Pater squeezes his shoulder briefly before stepping back to reveal the Royal Guard there to escort him. He glances at a clock as he passes, it’s probably been the busiest two hours of his life. So much for a peaceful end of the summer.

 

July 16th

8 am

Healer’s Hall

Gringotts, London

 

“It’ll hurt.”

“Yes, but can you do it?” Littlefoot demanded.

“Of course, I can do it,” the female goblin spat. “I’ll need an emerald and a ruby besides. You best go down to the mine and pick them fresh.”

Littlefoot strode out the door.

“Don’t cut them,” the female hollered after him.

 

 

July 16th

8:30 am

Heir Suite

Littlefoot’s Hall

Gringotts, London

 

The sharp knock didn’t wake Boy up. No, it was the blinding light coming from all directions. He cringed back into the covers. Wait covers?

He flew awake, teetering light-headed, squeezing his fist in wonder at the plush fabric. He’s never felt anything so soft. Not even when he jumped on Dudley’s bed that day the family left to take him to summer camp.

Boy looked to the door. Still closed? Good. It was only then that he noticed his clothes. They were different. He ran a hand down his front. It was smooth and shiny, like Ma’am’s tiny gown; the one that shows too much leg.

He shook the thought from his head. He inspected the weird clothes further. Maybe these were… pajamas? He wasn’t sure. He’d never had any before.

Fresh baked bread wafted through the now cracked door. Odd grunting and high-pitched squeaks sounded through the door. It sounded like arguing. Kinda.

Boy… no it’s Keagan now. He’d have to remember that. He slipped from the bed. Staring in wonder at his socked feet. Before the clink of china brought him back on his mission. He crept on his tip-toes to the door and gaped at what he saw.

Bagnold was setting the table! But he was dressed differently than before. Gone was the pin-stripped suit. Instead he wore a long grey shirt made of the same slippery material as Keagan’s own. It was shiny and glittered as he moved, placing goblets on a round table. He nearly giggled aloud. But when Bagnold turned away, he did gasp aloud. There standing on a chair was a lean green thing! It had the largest ears he’s ever seen and wore a little black bathrobe with a weird green picture on its back. The thing was laying foods on the tables in clear bowls.

Keagan was so focused on the green thing that he didn’t see Bagnold notice him. Or even pull the door open wider!

 

Bagnold wasted no time pulling the youngling forward, placing him at the head of the table. The child was choking on words. He could only make out _Bed_ and _sorry_. He shook his head.

“ _Shech 1, _calm. I placed you there because it is yours.” Bagnold soothed the hysterical child. His gut squeezed at the thought of those creatures who taught him to fear. He had nothing to fear!

“These rooms are in Littlefoot’s Hall,” he lectured. “We are in the Primacy Heir’s rooms. Your suite consists of a bedroom, private bath, and sitting room. The pale green door denotes your rooms. The emerald door at the end of the Hall houses,” he waves his hand to the far door, “the Littlefoot clan. If you have need for him, then you tell the twins.”

He walked towards a tapestry above the fireplace. It was very wide, depicting two younglings playing ball. He beckoned the little Heir closer, and as the child approaches, the tallest youngling turns to him.

The tallest…goblin?... was dressed like Bagnold. He crouched down as they approached and cocked his head to the side. Keagan jumped back with a shriek. Bagnold withheld a sigh.

“In the magical world, often, portraits and tapestries move. The interact with others, taking along messages, or blocking secret passages. They are useful sources of information. _Shech._ ”

“O-oh,” Keagan breaths.

“Ask _Maarlac 4_. Ask for Littlefoot,” he instructs.

“C-can you ge’ L-L-lli.” He breaths deeply. “L-Lit…tleffooot.”

The portrait simply stares a minute. Before a smile breaks out on his face, and the two children turn and run out of the frame.

“H-how they’d do ‘at?” the child asks awed and barely stuttering.

Bagnold peered down at the child. He grinned.

“Magic.”

 

 

July 16th

8:45 am

B 37 Conference Room

Gringotts, London

 

“I call this meeting to commence” the Director shouted. “Sharptooth begin,” he ordered.

“I was notified that a Most Ancient Family from my house has ended.” He shouted to the silent room. He turned behind him, “Ironclaw explain.”

Ironclaw stood slowly from his cushion. He bowed to his Elder, and again to the Director before turning to around to his fellow juniors.

“Yesterday a child came into the bank at closing time. Before business could be discussed, Senior Teller Bagnold, identified a runic scar on the child’s forehead.” He cupped his hands, whispering until an image was projected over his palms. He nodded at the gasps that followed.

“The child was identified as The-Boy-Who-Lived of Britain. The child was brought to my office. We took a test of three to confirm his identity after he introduced himself as Boy. We had no complete file as his parents did not bring him in for testing at age 1.” He let the image drop before pulling up the image of his Inheritance Test.

“The information was startling. It seems Lily Potter lied about the parentage of her child. This child is not a Potter and does not Inherit the House. Therefore, the line has ended in ’81 with Lord James Charlus Potter.” He sat back down.

Littlefoot stood.

“They brought the child to my office, as he is Heir to my House- among others. My house nevertheless holds Primacy.” He sat back down.

Ragnok hummed. “I see,” he said finally. He stood and turned to the blank wall behind him. Arms wide, he drew a deep breath before he roared, “ _Tuul_ _Ghaan_ 5!”

Nothing.

Black lines exploded across the wall. They climbed outwards, tracing family names- branching and twisting- forming leaves and boughs. A solid trunk at the bottom, splitting into seven equally large branches. The branches snaked skyward, names darkening against the wood. Until the largest self-updating tapestry in Gringotts was complete.

Nobody breathed. All eyes fixed upon a red spark. It traveled from the root, brightening until it engulfed the Potter name. The subsequent branch twisting and rotting from the wall. Ironclaw drew in sharply as his junior houses shimmered before the magic settled down. The Potter name had disappeared from wall. But Gryffindor house was not faulted as everyone stared at the newest Most Ancient and Noble House. The House of Bones grew into its new home; a single bud growing onto the blackened bough.

On another branch of the tree, the Peverell name darkened, a new bud joining the other two. The family was once again whole.

The wound left by the youngest son healed. When he broke faith with the royal house of Le Fay, and joined the young house of Gryffindor, all thought him done. But he ventured on, throwing away the name Peverell. He instead took the name of its occupation, Potter, and started anew.

“Now!” Ragnok broke the silence. He turned back to the assembly. “Since the Potter line has ended, all assets will return to house Peverell,” he announced.  

“This includes Ignotus’ Cloak of Invisibility, the Pottery and house elves included.”

“Where is Senior Bones.” A Goblin nearly fell, standing in a rush.

“Sir!” Harpto saluted.

“The Bones Household will be elevated. It will receive a total 5 familial seats on the Wizengamot, and a total 5 familial seats on the ICW. Notify your Lord Proxy immediately. Request a meeting.” The Director rattled off. He turned to Sharptooth, “You will attend the meetings until I say otherwise,” he barked.

“Sir!” both Goblins saluted.

“Now, the Potter Grimoire, and all secondaries will revert to House Gryffindor. Understood?” It wasn’t a question, but Sharptooth nodded anyway.

“The Potter household will as such be dissolved.” The Director clapped his hands once. The ink from the tree seeped away. The magic fading from the room. He sat on his cushion.

“Ironclaw!”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You have been reassigned. With an active account, I am sure that Littlefoot will need the help. You are to assist him, teach his Heir our language and history.”

Ironclaw stood, shocked. His cushion disappearing from behind, a new cushion settling itself beside Littlefoot. Just as every other wide-eyed goblin whispered to their neighbor. Teach a human child their language!

What nonsense! What… excitement!

“Yes Sir,” Ironclaw bowed low. He held position until told to rise. He stood tall, chin in the air, before he walked from his tier. He nodded at Sharptooth. Before bowing to Littlefoot, his new boss, and sat in his new cushion. This one a pine green with silver lining. Slightly behind and to the left of the Elder, but on the same tier. Ironclaw sighed in comfort _\- ahh, no more ruddy tassels._

Ragnok clapped once more before standing and following his guard back through the tapestry. The doors glowed once more -ensuring the secrecy spells take hold- before swinging open.

The meeting was over.

“Find my Heir and stay with him through his healing. I must attend another meeting.” Ironclaw winced in pity.  

“Of course, sir”

“I will come find you when I’m done.”

 

July 16th

9 am

Heir Suite

Littlefoot’s Hall

Gringotts, London

 

“B-Bagnold,” Keagan whispered, leaning close, “w-wha’s tha?” he pointed to the green thing no longer standing on a chair.

“Oh!” he sat back surprised. “I’m sorry, _shech_. I forgot.” He gestured to the thing.

“I bes Doc!” it piped up. “I’s Head House Elf to Slytherins Family. I’s come to bonds with Littlest Heir!” It stood tall, green ears flapping.

“A House elf is a magical creature. It is classified in Britain as a Being. They are bound to a wizard or wizarding family indefinitely.” Bagnold explained.

“But!”

“It’s not slavery.” Bagnold interrupted firmly. “I know what your thinking, but it is not a one-way relationship. When Doc bonds with a witch or wizard, he will absorb your excess magic. It is in a way his food. It will allow him to grow stronger, live longer, and support a family of his own. In exchange he will clean house and take care of your needs. He will protect your secrets, and you will protect him. You will both benefit.”

“O-okay,” Keagan says. He’s not quite sure, but it still sounds like he’s getting more out of it. “But wh-what abou’ when th-there’s no H-heir. Like b’fore?”

“Wes be staying in Gringotts. There bes lots of extra magics we elfies be taking. Wes be checking on manors once a week,” Doc chirped. “The Lord Snakey not bes home in a very long time. We elfies not be ables to find him, so we elfies come to Gringotts till Lord Snakey returns.”

“Now, let’s have you to bond. _Marthaac_ , place your right hand in front of you,” Bagnold stood. “Yes, like that. Palm up. Good.” He came around the table, standing between Keagan and Doc. “You must speak as clearly as you can. Go as slow as _you_ need, child.” He motioned Doc closer, grabbing his hand and placing it palm down just above Keagan, not quite touching.

“To bond you must repeat after me _, I (insert full-name here) command Doc to let go of his past to serve me, Blood Heir of House Slytherin. Does Doc, Head House Elf accept this command and agree to lay waste of his past and instead look towards his future?”_

Keagan repeated it. Only stopping twice and needing Bagnold to fetch a copy of his new name- it was so long-, but he did it. Doc visibly trembled, his ears curling in excitement.

“I Doc, Head House Elf of the Royal House of Slytherin, do accept the command of Keagan Henry Selwyn-Prince, Blood Heir of House Slytherin and will gladly look toward the future of House Slytherin. So, I say it. So, mote it be.” He rushed out all in one breath.

“So, I say it. So, mote it be.” Keagan repeats.

The magic tingles through his arms and chest, before snapping back like a rubber band. Keagan rubs his chest in wonder before looking down at the excitable creature.

But the excitement didn’t stop there. Doc jumped up and down before loudly snapping his fingers. Two elves arrived.

 “These bes the other Slytherin elvies!” Doc chirped. “They bes the twins Hickory and Dickory,” he pointed to the two holding hands. They weren’t as tall as Doc, but their ears were just as large. They were wearing the old black bathrobe and kid galoshes, but different colors.

“Hickory bes the cooking elf.” The left one bowed, his pointed nose almost touching the ground. Keagan noted his bright orange galoshes.

“Dickory bes the cleaning elf.” Dickory jumped forward as if to hug him, before stopping mid-movement. Keagan saw his blinding green galoshes from his hiding place behind Bagnold.

“And I bes Doc, new Master’s personal elf. I bes taking care of yous and will comes when you calls me!” Keagan was a bit distracted by his ears, wiggling as he nodded.

As if on cue, they all bowed low before chirping a “Nice to meets yous.” With another snap of his fingers, the twins disappeared save for Doc.

“Now Masters needs to eats breakfast. Dickory bes getting you clothes. Is bes getting bath ready.” And before Keagan could object, Doc disappeared.

Keagan blinked at the empty spot before focusing on Bagnold’s chuckle. He looked over at the seated Goblin. He gaped. Before his plate was empty. Now, though, there sat a small bowl of porridge topped with a brown sauce. There was fruit slices and odd green balls. His mug had milky tea.

He dipped his spoon in the porridge first. Sweet! The sauce must be honey! Ma’am had a jar of it in the cupboard, but it was never used before. He knew apple slices. But he poked the balls with his spoon.

“Those are grapes _Maarlac_. They are eaten whole.” Keagan nodded at Bagnold. He uncertainly picked one up, sniffing it lightly- it smelled of clean water- before plopping it in his mouth.

Bagnold watched the child’s eyes grow large in awe. He smiled as the child swallowed before grabbing another. -It seemed he liked them- the apple slices sitting forgotten on his plate.

“Bagnold?” Keagan asks shyly. He twirls his spoon nervously in his porridge. “Wh-what d’you k-keep cal-calling me?”

Bagnold hums, eyebrows rising. “OH,” he nods. “ _Maarlac_ is how we say Keagan in the tongue of my people.” He smiles at the child. He ignores the glassy-eyed look. As well as the child sweeping at his eyes. “Now, finish your food, then we’ll get you cleaned up. Littlefoot will be here within the hour. We should have just enough time to play a game of ‘Fish’ before he arrives.”

“Yes, Sir!”  

 

July 16th

10:00 am

Healer’s Hall

Gringotts, London

 

Trimius stared at the child before her. He was scruffy, pale limbed and bone thin. He was dressed in clean clothes at least. He was shaking slightly but stood tall. She nodded approvingly.

“My name is Trimius Sand. I am the Lead Healer of Black Magiks here at Gringotts. Welcome to Healer’s Hall, human child.” She spread her arms wide. She waited as the child’s eyes darted back and forth before they settled on her again.

“Sit.” She pointed to a bed. “First I will scan you.” Moving away without him. She picked up a heavy stone. It was small, black, the size of a deck of cards, and covered in runes. She faced the seated child again.

“I will first prick my finger. I will let it fall here,” she said showing him the black stone. “Then I will cut your palm, then you will place it face down on the stone over my blood. You will feel my magic.” She stood back slightly, grabbing the knife Littlefoot handed her.

She pressed the knife to her thumb, allowing the blood to well before smearing it across the stone. She tipped the stone toward the youth, so he could see the runes beginning to glow. He held out a hand. He did not twitch or wince when she sliced the palm deeply. She hesitated.

“I will not lie child. It will hurt. But it will only last five minutes.” And before he could even blink she pressed the hand against the stone.

Keagan’s arms spasmed at the same time. It was terrible. Like. Like sandpaper brushing against his inner elbow. Up across his shoulder and down his chest. His legs clenched on their own, and his back arched against the bed.

But his head! His scar was on fire! It burned! Worse than the time Ma’am held his hand to the stove eye. Or when Sir used his neck to put out his cigar! Tears came unbidden to his eyes, falling salty down his cheeks. He whimpered. He swallowed down a sob.

But then it was over. He fell limply to the bed, the lady goblin removing his hand from the stone. A whispered word and the fire in his palm disappeared along with the cut. He was given a glass of blue water that tasted like socks mixed with honey.

When he blinked his eyes back open, Hickory was at his head, helping him sit up. He shoved a handful of grapes at him before disappearing with a pop. Disorientated, he quietly ate his grapes, savoring the not-quite-sweet taste, washing down the blue water’s horrid taste.

 

July 16th

10: 30 am

B 62, Ritual Room

Gringotts, London

 

“Grand-Master Flitwick. Codename Fang. You have been brought once more to the Guard House to renew your vows to your clan and your nation. What is your answer?” a guardsman read, eyes never leaving the scroll.

 

Filius breath hitched. His chest pounded as the room tipped sideways.

Why was he surprised?

He told Pater he wasn’t running. Right?

He… he left because he wanted change. _Right_? There was no change to be found at home! That’s what he told them. So, he’d make a new home. He _chose_ to!

So, why was he _back_? Back here where blood was spilt. Back _here_ where --! He let loose a trembling breath. Shoulders slumping in exhaustion.

… why did he come back?

Was that the reason? He wanted to come home?

Really. Why was so he surprised?

He knelt, spreading his arms wide and looking towards the ceiling.

“I, Filius Flitwick of the Purple Sand, stand alongside my nation,” he answered in a quiet unsteady voice. “I will carry its secrets and guard its treasures. I,” his voice cracked. A tear dripped unnoticed down his cheek. “I _will_ learn from the past. To create another future.” He paused. He visibly steeled himself, gathering courage, sending a silent promise to Tooth. “Tides scatter purple sands. So, I say it, so mote it be.”

He didn’t move as the vow settled over him like a second skin. It had been more than a century since he took the vow of service. His eyes squeezed shut. He felt guilty for relishing as the magic of the Purple Sand once more filled his core.

Tears flowed down a steady stream even as sighed in relief; the pain in his lower back receding. He could feel his hair growing thicker, darker. He knew that when the sun rose tomorrow, his hair would once again be the raven of his youth. His eyes burned. If he looked in a mirror, he’d see the teal bleeding into his eyes. His jaw locked as his spine cracked. Once. Twice. Before the magic receded back, coiled deep in his core.

When he opened his eyes, he could see the magic in the room: like pale colored clouds surrounding the door and portraits. He could see the outline of all five hidden daggers on the guardsman before him.

 When beckoned, he stood. Marveling at his new height. He stood straighter, no longer hunched at the shoulders. His spine had realigned itself to the best position. And he had grown a few inches taller. Now he looked the picture of health, of that of a seasoned Agent of the Purple Sands. A picture of his youth.

“Senior-Agent Fang. Welcome back to the fold, sir!” the guardsman smiled. “The Director will meet with you now.”

Filius gave a watery smile back.

Really. Why was he surprised when he had never really left?

 

11 am

Healer’s Hall

Ritual Room

Gringotts, London

 

             

Keagan had been drifting in and out of sleep, not really listening to the adults. Just blinking sluggishly at the balls of different colored light that Hickory had conjured for him.

Ironclaw had explained to him what was gonna happen. Now he just needed to wait as the ritual room was readied.

 

Ironclaw explained it: there was a spot of magic in his scar. And not the good kind, no he was stuck with the inky black tar kind. It was attempting to bond with his…core? He called it a magical leech, and Trimius was preparing a ritual to remove it.

Trimius had been blunt. It would hurt, she said. But he’d be put to sleep magically, so he’d only feel sore when he awakes next.

She said, don’t be scared.

He said, you’ll be asleep for near a week.

And while Keagan doesn’t exactly understand, he does trust Ironclaw. And said he’d agree if Ironclaw stays during the ritual. Ironclaw nodded his head slightly and smirked at the aged female.

He watches them talk with their eyes. But after a few minutes Trimius agrees and sends Ironclaw and Keagan to be cleansed.                      

His nose crinkles his nose in distaste as he sits in the cold water. The ritual bath smells like onions, and not the good kind, but the squishy kind found in Ma’am’s garden at the end of summer. It’s the color of milk and makes Keagan’s skin tremble.

He is given a gown the color of snow, and when he looks back at the bath water it is muddy. Shivering, Keagan turns away. He is placed on his back in a stone room, inside a circle inside a square. Trimius paints lines across his forehead in ink and tells him to close his eyes. His skin trembles fiercely for a second before he floats away into the darkness.

                                          

Ironclaw watches silently, tense, hands fisting in his cloak as the child’s mouth gapes a silent cry, back arching off the ground as a black sludge mixed with blood oozes from his scar. The crisp tones plow on, never slowing. When one breaths another takes up the task.

He wants to them to slow. Stop.

Instead they grow louder.

The magic is heavy, and saturates every space, and Ironclaw is awed and terrified and can’t move his eyes away.

The sludge rises in the air. Cradled by an invisible wind and is pressed into a ball shape by an equally gentle hand, slowly. It drips and rises and caressed until the blood runs red. And the body falls limp on the stone floor. The black sludge is hovered over a silver dagger he didn’t notice before now; lowered slowly until black touches silver and the ball disappears into the dagger’s hilt.

The dagger pulses once, twice. The crystals around the hilt explode. A collective breath is released when the ruby holds. Even as the emerald cracks straight down the center. The magic is sucked from the air like a breath. Disappearing and the pulsing stops; and the dagger lays innocently in the circle.

Ironclaw looks up. (he doesn’t remember falling down the wall) He rises and follows Trim to Keagan, gently picking the youngling up and taking him to float in another cleansing bath, this time the water staying blessedly milky.

The walk back to Lilltlefoot’s Hall is silently. Everyone shaken. The echoes of Black Magic fading from the air.

His heart finally calms as he tucks the child back into bed, allowing Trim to dress the head wound and spell potions into his stomach. Doc appears at his elbow with a small black dog teddy, and places it against the child’s head.

Ironclaw sits heavily in the provided chair, slumping against the plush back, and silently bemoaning the fact that it isn’t even noon yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Goblin for child  
> 2\. Goblin for take me home  
> 3\. Goblin for my son  
> 4\. Goblin for Keagan  
> 5\. Goblin for Show Me
> 
> Once again I got all my translations from screwytruths: Common to Goblin Translator

**Author's Note:**

> Hello~  
> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> I’m pretty okay with how this chapter went down. But, wow!, It ended up being way longer than usual. (Though it seems to be a trend with later chapters…) And I got it up on time…  
> So, I’ve discovered that I can’t really write action (or at least as it’s happening). I’ve been running into the same problem with Halloween’s Mess. I feel like parts don’t flow smoothly, and I tell rather than show… Well, its something to work on.  
> As the story progresses and I get the characters to settle, I hope to re-write parts of this chapter. Boy didn’t come out quite as planned, and I don’t quite know yet how to show it. So ,it’ll be something to work on.  
> As a side note, I think I will keep the dates, time, locations denoting present time. I’ll leave flashbacks and re-caps without such labels. I’m also a big fan of multiple POVs. If it gets confusing let me know, and I’ll try to fix it.  
> Also, I’m not a huge fan of dialogue. And don’t really use it. So, heads up for choppy (out of place) conversations. This seems to be turning into a “I really need to work on that” and a “maybe if I do it like that” kinda fic.  
> I’ve got three chapters already written up, and I’m starting the fourth. As I’ve maybe said (I can’t remember), I’m doing this as my July CampNano, so expect updates (yay!). 
> 
> See you next time, Cheers!


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